•• 


HE  STORY 
WITHOUT  AN 
END  TRANS- 
LATED FROM 
THE  GERMAN  OF  F.  W. 
CAROVE  BY  SARAH  AUS- 


TIN Jt  JK 


8540222 

OmEa 

1897a 


LIBRARY  OF  THE 
UNIVERSITY  OF  ILLINOIS 
AT  URBANA-CHAMPAIGN 

834C222 

OmEa 

1897a 


V 


■ 


The  story  with- 
out AN  END 


The  story  without  an  end 

TRANSLATED  FROM  THE 
GERMAN  OF  F.  W.  CAROVfi 
BY  SARAH  AUSTIN 


PORTLAND  MAINE 
THOMAS  B MOSHER 

MDCCCXCVII 


23^  C2XL 

a /VK  /l.  (Ke 

) i i ■.  d 


DEDICATION 


To  my  Daughter. 


My  dear  Child, — 


y> 

V 

$SjI 

X 


The  story  you  love  so  much  in  German  I 
dedicate  to  you  in  English.  It  was  in  compliance 
with  your  earnest  wish  that  other  children  might 
share  the  delight  it  has  so  often  afforded  you,  that 
I translated  it ; so  that  it  is,  in  some  sort,  yours  of 
right.  Let  us  hope  that  your  confident  expecta- 
tions of  sympathy  in  your  pleasure  may  not  be 
disappointed : or  that,  if  others  think  the  story  less 
beautiful  than  you  do,  they  may  find  compensation 
in  the  graceful  designs  it  has  inspired. 

You  have  often  regretted  that  it  left  off  so  soon, 
and  would,  I believe,  “ have  been  glad  to  hear 
more  and  more,  and  for  ever.”  The  continuation 
you  have  longed  for  lies  in  a wide  and  magnificent 
book,  which  contains  more  wonderful  and  glorious 
things  than  all  our  favourite  fairy-tales  put  togeth- 
er. But  to  read  in  that  book,  so  as  to  discover  all 


its  beautiful  meanings,  you  must  have  pure,  clear 
eyes,  and  an  humble,  loving  heart ; otherwise  you 
will  complain,  as  some  do,  that  it  is  dim  and  puz- 
zling : or  as  others,  that  it  is  dull  and  monotonous. 

May  you  continue  to  read  in  it  with  new  curios- 
ity, new  delight,  and  new  profit ; and  to  find  it,  as 
long  as  you  live,  the  untiring  “ Story  without  an 
End.” 

Your  affectionate  Mother, 

S.  A. 


FOREWORD 


HAT  Mr.  George  Saintsbury  has  called  “ the 


exquisite  Story  without  an  End  which  Sarah 
Austin*  half  adapted,  half  translated,”  was  first 
issued  in  London  in  1834,  and  has  since  gone 
through  many  editions  there.  An  edition  defnitif 
published  in  1868,  besides  some  pleasing  designs 
by  E.  V.  B.t  contains  a series  of  old-style  chromo- 
lithographs that  are  still  charming  for  all  our  later 
refinements  in  colour  printing.  In  7^  Eulogy  of 
Richard  Jefferies,  (1888)  this  volume  was  undoubt- 
edly in  Sir  Walter  Besant’s  mind;  in  his  own 
inimitable,  kindly  way  he  tells  us: 

There  is  a very  delightful  old  story  which  used 
to  be  given  to  children,  though  I have  not  seen  it 
for  a long  time  in  the  hands  of  any  children.  It 
was  called  ‘The  Story  without  an  End .’  A child 


*For  the  story  of  Sarah  Austin’s  life  see  Three 
Generations  of  English  Women  by  Janet  Ross, 
(London,  1893). 

tThe  Hon.  Mrs.  Boyle,  compiler  of  Ros  Rosarum, 
that  ever-living  book  of  the  Rose  which  should  be 
known  for  its  exquisite  contents  to  all  book-lovers 
everywhere. 


wandered  among  the  flowers,  who  talked  to  him. 
That  is  the  whole  story.  There  were  coloured 
pictures  in  it.  The  story  began  without  a begin- 
ning, and  it  came  to  a sudden  stop  without  an  end- 
ing. It  is  perhaps  upon  a reminiscence  of  this  old 
story  that  Jefferies  has  based  nearly  all  his  own.” 

It  may  occur  to  some  of  us  that  higher  testimony 
to  the  enduring  literary  charm  of  this  little  transla- 
tion— or  adaptation  if  you  will  — could  scarcely 
be  asked  by  the  most  exigent  reader.  Still,  it  adds 
somewhat  to  our  belated  appreciation  to  find 
Thomas  Carlyle,  a life-long  friend,  writing  in 
acknowledgement  of  a copy  of  “the  dainty  little 
book”: 

“ It  is  an  allerliebstes  Biichlein , graceful  in  spirit 
as  in  embodiment  and  decoration ; and  we  all  par- 
ticipate in  Lucie’s*  love  of  it ; but  fancy  there  will 
be  children  enough  (of  six  feet  high  and  lower 
statures)  in  this  1 envy  of  surrounding  nations  ’ to 
ask : What  does  it  prove,  then  ? ” 

With  such  sponsors,  who  shall  say  The  Story 
without  an  End  has  become  obsolete?  Its  old 
world  naivete  still  touches,  even  as  a child’s  tiny 
fingers  might  touch,  our  human  hearts  ; still  for  us 
exhales  a fragrance  from  flowers  that  have  blos- 
somed and  are  fadeless  after  all  these  fading  years. 


*The  little  daughter,  Lucie,  born  in  1821,  for 
whom  the  story  was  translated,  became  in  after 
years,  Lady  Duff  Gordon. 


(/ 


The  story  with- 
out AN  END 


THE  STORY  WITHOUT  AN  END 
I 

HERE  was  once  a Child  who  lived 


in  a little  hut,  and  in  the  hut  there 
was  nothing  but  a little  bed,  and  a look- 
ing-glass which  hung  in  a dark  corner. 
Now  the  Child  cared  nothing  at  all  about 
the  looking-glass,  but  as  soon  as  the  first 
sunbeam  glided  softly  through  the  case- 
ment and  kissed  his  sweet  eyelids,  and 
the  finch  and  the  linnet  waked  him  mer- 
rily with  their  morning  songs,  he  arose, 
and  went  out  into  the  green  meadow. 
And  he  begged  flour  of  the  primrose,  and 
sugar  of  the  violet,  and  butter  of  the  but- 
tercup; he  shook  dew-drops  from  the 
cowslip  into  the  cup  of  a harebell ; spread 


9 


THE  STORY  WITHOUT  AN  END 


out  a large  lime-leaf,  set  his  little  break- 
fast upon  it,  and  feasted  daintily.  Some- 
times he  invited  a humming-bee,  oftener 
a gay  butterfly,  to  partake  of  his  feast; 
but  his  favourite  guest  was  the  blue 
dragon-fly.  The  bee  murmured  a good 
deal,  in  a solemn  tone,  about  his  riches ; 
but  the  Child  thought  that  if  he  were  a 
bee,  heaps  of  treasure  would  not  make 
him  gay  and  happy;  and  that  it  must  be 
much  more  delightful  and  glorious  to 
float  about  in  the  free  and  fresh  breezes 
of  spring,  and  to  hum  joyously  in  the 
web  of  the  sunbeams,  than,  with  heavy 
feet  and  heavy  heart,  to  stow  the  silver 
wax  and  the  golden  honey  into  cells. 

To  this  the  butterfly  assented;  and  he 
told  how,  once  on  a time,  he  too  had  been 
greedy  and  sordid;  how  he  had  thought 
of  nothing  but  eating,  and  had  never  once 
turned  his  eyes  upwards  to  the  blue 
heavens.  At  length,  however,  a complete 
change  had  come  over  him ; and  instead 
of  crawling  spiritless  about  the  dirty  earth, 


io 


THE  STORY  WITHOUT  AN  END 


half  dreaming,  he  all  at  once  awaked  as 
out  of  a deep  sleep.  And  now  he  could 
rise  into  the  air ; — and  it  was  his  greatest 
joy  sometimes  to  play  with  the  light,  and 
to  reflect  the  heavens  in  the  bright  eyes 
of  his  wings ; sometimes  to  listen  to  the 
soft  language  of  the  flowers,  and  catch 
their  secrets.  Such  talk  delighted  the 
Child,  and  his  breakfast  was  the  sweeter 
to  him,  and  the  sunshine  on  leaf  and 
flower  seemed  to  him  more  bright  and 
cheering. 

But  when  the  bee  had  flown  off  to  beg 
from  flower  to  flower,  and  the  butterfly 
had  fluttered  away  to  his  playfellows, 
the  dragon-fly  still  remained,  poised  on  a 
blade  of  grass.  Her  slender  and  bur- 
nished body,  more  brightly  and  deeply 
blue  than  the  deep  blue  sky,  glistened  in 
the  sunbeam;  and  her  net-like  wings 
laughed  at  the  flowers  because  they  could 
not  fly,  but  must  stand  still  and  abide  the 
wind  and  the  rain.  The  dragon-fly  sipped 
a little  of  the  Child’s  clear  dew-drops  and 


ii 


THE  STORY  WITHOUT  AN  END 


blue  violet  honey,  and  then  whispered  her 
winged  words.  And  the  Child  made  an 
end  of  his  repast,  closed  his  dark  blue 
eyes,  bent  down  his  beautiful  head,  and 
listened  to  the  sweet  prattle. 

Then  the  dragon-fly  told  much  of  the 
merry  life  in  the  green  wood;  how  some- 
times she  played  hide-and-seek  with  her 
playfellows  under  the  broad  leaves  of  the 
oak  and  the  beech  trees ; or  hunt-the-hare 
along  the  surface  of  the  still  waters ; 
sometimes  quietly  watched  the  sunbeams, 
as  they  flew  busily  from  moss  to  flower 
and  from  flower  to  bush,  and  shed  life 
and  warmth  over  all.  But  at  night,  she 
said,  the  moonbeams  glided  softly  around 
the  wood,  and  dropped  dew  into  the 
mouths  of  all  the  thirsty  plants;  and 
when  the  dawn  pelted  the  slumberers 
with  the  soft  roses  of  heaven,  some  of 
the  half-drunken  flowTers  looked  up  and 
smiled;  but  most  of  them  could  not  so 
much  as  raise  their  heads  for  a long,  long 
time. 


12 


THE  STORY  WITHOUT  AN  END 


Such  stories  did  the  dragon-fly  tell; 
and  as  the  Child  sat  motionless,  with  his 
eyes  shut,  and  his  head  rested  on  his  little 
hand,  she  thought  he  had  fallen  asleep ; 
— so  she  poised  her  double  wings  and 
flew  into  the  rustling  wTood. 


II 


BUT  the  Child  was  only  sunk  into  a 
dream  of  delight  and  was  wishing 
he  were  a sunbeam  or  a moonbeam ; and 
he  would  have  been  glad  to  hear  more 
and  more,  and  for  ever.  But  at  last,  as 
all  was  still,  he  opened  his  eyes  and 
looked  around  for  his  dear  guest;  but 
she  was  flown  far  away;  so  he  could  not 
bear  to  sit  there  any  longer  alone,  and  he 
rose  and  went  to  the  gurgling  brook.  It 
gushed  and  rolled  so  merrily,  and  tumbled 
so  wildly  along  as  it  hurried  to  throw  itself 
head-over-heels  into  the  river,  just  as  if 
the  great  massy  rock  out  of  which  it 
sprang  were  close  behind  it,  and  could 
only  be  escaped  by  a break-neck  leap. 

Then  the  Child  began  to  talk  to  the 
little  waves,  and  asked  them  whence  they 
came.  They  would  not  stay  to  give  him 
an  answer,  but  danced  away,  one  over 


14 


THE  STORY  WITHOUT  AN  END 


another;  till  at  last,  that  the  sweet  Child 
might  not  be  grieved,  a drop  of  water 
stopped  behind  a piece  of  rock.  From 
her  the  Child  heard  strange  histories,  but 
he  could  not  understand  them  all,  for  she 
told  him  about  her  former  life,  and  about 
the  depths  of  the  mountain. 

“A  long  while  ago,”  said  the  drop  of 
water,  “ I lived  with  my  countless  sisters 
in  the  great  ocean,  in  peace  and  unity. 
We  had  all  sorts  of  pastimes;  sometimes 
we  mounted  up  high  into  the  air,  and 
peeped  at  the  stars;  then  we  sank  plump 
down  deep  below,  and  looked  how  the 
coral  builders  work  till  they  are  tired, 
that  they  may  reach  the  light  of  day  at 
last.  But  I was  conceited,  and  thought 
myself  much  better  than  my  sisters.  And 
so  one  day,  when  the  sun  rose  out  of  the 
sea,  I clung  fast  to  one  of  his  hot  beams, 
and  thought  that  now  I should  reach  the 
stars,  and  become  one  of  them.  But  I 
had  not  ascended  far,  when  the  sunbeam 
shook  me  off,  and,  in  spite  of  all  I could 


*5 


THE  STORY  WITHOUT  AN  END 


say  or  do,  let  me  fall  into  a dark  cloud. 
And  soon  a flash  of  fire  darted  through 
the  cloud,  and  now  I thought  I must 
surely  die ; but  the  whole  cloud  laid  itself 
down  softly  upon  the  top  of  a mountain, 
and  so  I escaped  with  my  fright  and  a 
black  eye.  Now  I thought  I should 
remain  hidden,  when,  all  on  a sudden,  I 
slipped  over  a round  pebble,  fell  from 
one  stone  to  another,  down  into  the 
depths  of  the  mountain,  till  at  last  it  was 
pitch  dark,  and  I could  neither  see  nor 
hear  anything.  Then  I found,  indeed, 
that  ‘pride  goeth  before  a fall,’  resigned 
myself  to  my  fate,  and,  as  I had  already 
laid  aside  all  my  unhappy  pride  in  the 
cloud,  my  portion  was  now  the  salt  of 
humility;  and  after  undergoing  many 
purifications  from  the  hidden  virtues  of 
metals  and  minerals,  I was  at  length  per- 
mitted to  come  up  once  more  into  the 
free,  cheerful  air ; and  now  will  I run  back 
to  my  sisters,  and  there  wait  patiently  till 
I am  called  to  something  better.” 


16 


THE  STORY  WITHOUT  AN  END 


But  hardly  had  she  done  when  the  root 
of  a forget-me-not  caught  the  drop  of 
water  by  her  hair  and  sucked  her  in,  that 
she  might  become  a floweret,  and  twinkle 
brightly  as  a blue  star  on  the  green  firma- 
ment of  earth. 


Ill 


HE  Child  did  not  very  well  know 


what  to  think  of  all  this;  he  went 
thoughtfully  home  and  laid  him  himself 
on  his  little  bed ; and  all  night  long  he 
was  wandering  about  on  the  ocean,  and 
among  the  stars,  and  over  the  dark  moun- 
tain. But  the  moon  loved  to  look  on  the 
slumbering  Child  as  he  lay  with  his  little 
head  softly  pillowed  on  his  right  arm. 
She  lingered  a long  time  before  his  little 
window,  and  went  slowly  away  to  lighten 
the  dark  chamber  of  some  sick  person. 

As  the  moon’s  soft  light  lay  on  the 
Child’s  eyelids,  he  fancied  he  sat  in  a 
golden  boat,  on  a great,  great  water; 
countless  stars  swam  glittering  on  the 
dark  mirror.  He  stretched  out  his  hand 
to  catch  the  nearest  star,  but  it  had  van- 
ished, and  the  water  sprayed  up  against 
him.  Then  he  saw  clearly  that  these 


18 


THE  STORY  WITHOUT  AN  END 


were  not  the  real  stars : he  looked  up  to 
heaven,  and  wished  he  could  fly  thither. 

But  in  the  meantime  the  moon  had  wan- 
dered on  her  way;  and  now  the  Child  was 
led  in  his  dream  into  the  clouds,  and  he 
thought  he  was  sitting  on  a white  sheep, 
and  he  saw  many  lambs  grazing  around 
him.  He  tried  to  catch  a little  lamb  to 
play  with,  but  it  was  all  mist  and  vapour; 
and  the  Child  was  sorrowful,  and  wished 
himself  down  again  in  his  own  meadow, 
where  his  own  lamb  was  sporting  gaily 
about. 

Meanwhile  the  moon  was  gone  to  sleep 
behind  the  mountains,  and  all  around  was 
dark.  Then  the  Child  dreamt  that  he 
fell  down  into  the  dark,  gloomy  caverns 
of  the  mountain,  and  at  that  he  was  so 
frightened,  that  he  suddenly  awoke,  just 
as  morning  opened  her  clear  eye  over  the 
nearest  hill. 


IV 


HE  Child  started  up,  and,  to  recover 


himself  from  his  fright,  went  into 
the  little  flower-garden  behind  his  cot- 
tage, where  the  beds  were  surrounded  by 
ancient  palm-trees,  and  where  he  knew 
that  all  the  flowers  would  nod  kindly  at 
him.  But,  behold,  the  tulip  turned  up 
her  nose,  and  the  ranunculus  held  her 
head  as  stiffly  as  possible,  that  she  might 
not  bow  good-morrow  to  him.  The  rose, 
with  her  fair  round  cheeks,  smiled  and 
greeted  the  Child  lovingly;  so  he  went 
up  to  her  and  kissed  her  fragrant  mouth. 
And  then  the  rose  tenderly  complained 
that  he  so  seldom  came  into  the  garden, 
and  that  she  gave  out  her  bloom  and  her 
fragrance  the  live-long  day  in  vain ; for  the 
other  flowers  could  not  see  her,  because 
they  were  too  low,  or  did  not  care  to  look 
at  her  because  they  themselves  were  so 


20 


THE  STORY  WITHOUT  AN  END 


rich  in  bloom  and  fragrance.  But  she 
was  most  delighted  when  she  glowed  in 
the  blooming  head  of  a child,  and  could 
pour  out  all  her  heart’s  secrets  to  him  in 
sweet  odours.  Among  other  things,  the 
rose  whispered  in  his  ear  that  she  was  the 
Fulness  of  Beauty. 

And  in  truth  the  Child,  while  looking 
at  her  beauty,  seemed  to  have  quite  for- 
gotten to  go  on;  till  the  blue  larkspur 
called  to  him,  and  asked  whether  he 
cared  nothing  more  about  his  faithful 
friend ; she  said  that  she  was  unchanged, 
and  that  even  in  death  she  should  look 
upon  him  with  eyes  of  unfading  blue. 

The  Child  thanked  her  for  her  true- 
heartedness, and  passed  on  to  the  hyacinth, 
who  stood  near  the  puffy,  full-cheeked, 
gaudy  tulips.  Even  from  a distance  the 
hyacinth  sent  forth  kisses  to  him,  for 
she  knew  not  how  to  express  her  love. 
Although  she  was  not  remarkable  for  her 
beauty,  yet  the  Child  felt  himself  won- 
drously  attracted  by  her,  for  he  thought 


21 


THE  STORY  WITHOUT  AN  END 


no  flower  loved  him  so  well.  But  the 
hyacinth  poured  out  her  full  heart  and 
wept  bitterly,  because  she  stood  so  lonely ; 
the  tulips  indeed  "were  her  countrymen, 
but  they  were  so  cold  and  unfeeling  that 
she  was  ashamed  of  them.  The  Child 
encouraged  her,  and  told  her  he  did  not 
think  things  were  so  bad  as  she  fancied. 
The  tulips  spoke  their  love  in  bright 
looks,  while  she  uttered  hers  in  fragrant 
words;  that  these,  indeed,  were  lovelier 
and  more  intelligible,  but  that  the  others 
were  not  to  be  despised. 

Then  the  hyacinth  was  comforted,  and 
said  she  would  be  content ; and  the  Child 
went  on  to  the  powdered  auricula,  who, 
in  her  bashfulness,  looked  kindly  up  to 
him,  and  "would  gladly  have  given  him 
more  than  kind  looks,  had  she  had  more 
to  give.  But  the  Child  was  satisfied  with 
her  modest  greeting ; he  felt  that  he  "was 
poor  too,  and  he  saw  the  deep,  thoughtful 
colours  that  lay  beneath  her  golden  dust. 
But  the  humble  flower,  of  her  own  accord, 


22 


THE  STORY  WITHOUT  AN  END 

sent  him  to  her  neighbour,  the  lily,  whom 
she  willingly  acknowledged  as  her  queen. 
And  when  the  Child  came  to  the  lily,  the 
slender  flower  waved  to  and  fro,  and 
bowed  her  pale  head  with  gentle  pride 
and  stately  modesty,  and  sent  forth  a 
fragrant  greeting  to  him.  The  Child 
knew  not  what  had  come  to  him : it 
reached  his  inmost  heart,  so  that  his  eyes 
filled  with  soft  tears.  Then  he  marked 
how  the  lily  gazed  with  a clear  and  stead- 
fast eye  upon  the  sun,  and  how  the  sun 
looked  down  again  into  her  pure  chalice, 
and  how,  amid  this  interchange  of  looks, 
the  three  golden  threads  united  in  the 
centre.  And  the  Child  heard  how  one 
scarlet  lady-bird  at  the  bottom  of  the  cup 
said  to  another,  “ Knowest  thou  not  that 
we  dwell  in  the  flower  of  heaven  ? ” and 
the  other  replied,  “Yes,  and  now  will  the 
mystery  be  fulfilled.” 

And  as  the  Child  saw  and  heard  all  this, 
the  dim  image  of  his  unknown  parents, 
as  it  were  veiled  in  a holy  light,  floated 


23 


THE  STORY  WITHOUT  AN  END 


before  his  eyes  : he  strove  to  grasp  it,  but 
the  light  was  gone,  and  the  Child  slipped, 
and  would  have  fallen,  had  not  the  branch 
of  a currant  bush  caught  and  held  him ; 
he  took  some  of  the  bright  berries*  for 
his  morning’s  meal,  and  went  back  to  his 
hut  and  stripped  the  little  branches. 

*The  red  currant  is  called  in  Germany,  Johan- 
nisbeere,  St.  John’s  berry. 


V 


IN  the  hut  he  stayed  not  long,  all  was 
so  gloomy,  close,  and  silent  within; 
and  abroad  everything  seemed  to  smile, 
and  to  exult  in  the  clear  and  unbounded 
space.  Therefore  the  Child  went  out  into 
the  green  wood,  of  which  the  dragon-fly 
had  told  him  such  pleasant  stories.  But 
he  found  everything  far  more  beautiful 
and  lovely  even  than  she  had  described 
it ; for  all  about,  wherever  he  went,  the 
tender  moss  pressed  his  little  feet,  and 
the  delicate  grass  embraced  his  kneeS, 
and  the  flowers  kissed  his  hands,  and 
even  the  branches  stroked  his  cheeks 
with  a kind  and  refreshing  touch,  and  the 
high  trees  threw  their  fragrant  shade 
around  him. 

There  was  no  end  to  his  delight.  The 
little  birds  warbled  and  sang,  and  fluttered 
and  hopped  about,  and  the  delicate  wood- 


25 


THE  STORY  WITHOUT  AN  END 


flowers  gave  out  their  beauty  and  their 
odours ; and  every  sweet  sound  took  a 
sweet  odour  by  the  hand,  and  thus  walked 
through  the  open  door  of  the  Child’s 
heart,  and  held  a joyous  nuptial  dance 
therein.  But  the  nightingale  and  the  lily 
of  the  valley  led  the  dance ; for  the  night- 
ingale sang  of  nought  but  love,  and  the 
lily  breathed  of  nought  but  innocence, 
and  he  was  the  bridegroom  and  she  was 
the  bride.  And  the  nightingale  was  never 
weary  of  repeating  the  same  thing  a hun- 
dred times  over,  for  the  spring  of  love 
which  gushed  from  his  heart  was  ever 
new ; and  the  lily  bowed  her  head  bash- 
fully, that  no  one  might  see  her  glowing 
heart.  And  yet  the  one  lived  so  solely 
and  entirely  in  the  other,  that  no  one 
could  see  whether  the  notes  of  the  night- 
ingale were  floating  lilies,  or  the  lilies 
visible  notes,  falling  like  dew-drops  from 
the  nightingale’s  throat. 

The  Child’s  heart  was  full  of  joy  even 
to  the  brim.  He  set  himself  down,  and 


26 


THE  STORY  WITHOUT  AN  END 


he  almost  thought  he  should  like  to  take 
root  there,  and  live  for  ever  among  the 
sweet  plants  and  flowers,  and  so  become 
a true  sharer  in  all  their  gentle  pleasures. 
For  he  felt  a deep  delight  in  the  still, 
secluded,  twilight  existence  of  the  mosses 
and  small  herbs,  which  felt  not  the  storm, 
nor  the  frost,  nor  the  scorching  sunbeam; 
but  dwelt  quietly  among  their  many  friends 
and  neighbours,  feasting  in  peace  and 
good  fellowship  on  the  dew  and  cool 
shadows  which  the  mighty  trees  shed 
upon  them.  To  them  it  was  a high  festi- 
val when  a sunbeam  chanced  to  visit  their 
lowly  home ; whilst  the  tops  of  the  lofty 
trees  could  find  joy  and  beauty  only  in 
the  purple  rays  of  morning  or  evening. 


VI 


ND  as  the  Child  sat  there,  a little 


mouse  rustled  from  among  the  dry 
leaves  of  the  former  year,  and  a lizard 
half  glided  from  a crevice  in  the  rock,  and 
both  of  them  fixed  their  bright  eyes  upon 
the  little  stranger;  and  when  they  saw 
that  he  designed  them  no  evil,  they  took 
courage  and  came  nearer  to  him. 

“ I should  like  to  live  with  you,”  said 
the  Child  to  the  two  little  creatures,  in  a 
soft,  subdued  voice,  that  he  might  not 
frighten  them.  “Your  chambers  are  so 
snug,  so  warm,  and  yet  so  shaded,  and 
the  flowers  grow  in  at  your  windows,  and 
the  birds  sing  you  their  morning  song, 
and  call  you  to  table  and  to  bed  with 
their  clear  wTarblings.” 

“Yes,”  said  the  mouse,  “it  would  be 
all  very  well  if  all  the  plants  bore  nuts 
and  mast,  instead  of  those  silly  flowers  ; 


28 


THE  STORY  WITHOUT  AN  END 

and  if  I were  not  obliged  to  grub  under 
ground  in  the  spring,  and  gnaw  the  bitter 
roots,  whilst  they  are  dressing  themselves 
in  their  fine  flowers,  and  flaunting  it  to 
the  world,  as  if  they  had  endless  stores  of 
honey  in  their  cellars.” 

“Hold  your  tongue,”  interrupted  the 
lizard,  pertly ; “ do  you  think,  because  you 
are  grey,  that  other  people  must  throw 
away  their  handsome  clothes,  or  let  them 
lie  in  the  dark  wardrobe  under  ground, 
and  wear  nothing  but  grey  too?  I am 
not  so  envious.  The  flowers  may  dress 
themselves  as  they  like  for  me ; they  pay 
for  it  out  of  their  own  pockets,  and  they 
feed  bees  and  beetles  from  their  cups ; 
but  what  I wTant  to  know  is,  of  what  use 
are  birds  in  the  world?  Such  a fluttering 
and  chattering,  truly,  from  morning  early 
to  evening  late,  that  one  is  worried  and 
stunned  to  death,  and  there  is  never  a 
day’s  peace  for  them.  And  they  do  noth- 
ing ; only  snap  up  the  flies  and  the  spiders 
out  of  the  mouths  of  such  as  I.  For  my 


29 


THE  STORY  WITHOUT  AN  END 


part,  I should  be  perfectly  satisfied,  pro- 
vided all  the  birds  in  the  world  were  flies 
and  beetles.” 

The  Child  changed  colour,  and  his  heart 
was  sick  and  saddened  when  he  heard 
their  evil  tongues.  He  could  not  imagine 
how  anybody  could  speak  ill  of  the  beau- 
tiful flowers,  or  scoff  at  his  beloved  birds. 
He  was  waked  out  of  a sweet  dream,  and 
the  wood  seemed  to  him  lonely  and  desert, 
and  he  was  ill  at  ease.  He  started  up 
hastily,  so  that  the  mouse  and  the  lizard 
shrank  back  alarmed,  and  did  not  look 
around  them  till  they  thought  themselves 
safe  out  of  the  reach  of  the  stranger  with 
the  large  severe  eyes. 


VII 


BUT  the  Child  went  away  from  the 
place;  and  as  he  hung  down  his 
head  thoughtfully,  he  did  not  observe 
that  he  took  the  wrong  path,  nor  see  how 
the  flowers  on  either  side  bowed  their 
heads  to  welcome  him,  nor  hear  how  the 
old  birds  from  the  boughs,  and  the  young 
from  the  nests,  cried  aloud  to  him,  “ God 
bless  thee,  our  dear  little  prince ! ” And 
he  went  on,  and  on,  farther  and  farther 
into  the  deep  wood;  and  he  thought  over 
the  foolish  and  heartless  talk  of  the  two 
selfish  chatterers,  and  could  not  under- 
stand it.  He  would  fain  have  forgotten 
it,  but  he  could  not.  And  the  more  he 
pondered,  the  more  it  seemed  to  him  as 
if  a malicious  spider  had  spun  her  web 
around  him,  and  as  if  his  eyes  were  weary 
with  trying  to  look  through  it. 

And  suddenly  he  came  to  a still  water, 


3i 


THE  STORY  WITHOUT  AN  END 


above  which  young  beeches  lovingly  en- 
twined their  arms.  He  looked  in  the 
w^ater,  and  his  eyes  were  riveted  to  it  as 
if  by  enchantment.  He  could  not  move, 
but  stood  and  gazed  in  the  soft,  placid 
mirror,  from  the  bosom  of  which  the  ten- 
der green  foliage,  with  the  deep  blue 
heavens  between,  gleamed  so  wondrously 
upon  him.  His  sorrow  was  all  forgotten, 
and  even  the  echo  of  the  discord  in  his 
little  heart  was  hushed.  That  heart  w7as 
once  more  in  his  eyes;  and  fain  w’ould 
he  have  drunk  in  the  soft  beauty  of  the 
colours  that  lay  beneath  him,  or  have 
plunged  into  the  lovely  deep. 

Then  the  breeze  began  to  sigh  among 
the  tree-tops.  The  Child  raised  his  eyes 
and  saw  overhead  the  quivering  green, 
and  the  deep  blue  behind  it,  and  he  knew 
not  wdiether  he  were  awake  or  dreaming : 
which  wrere  the  real  leaves  and  the  real 
heaven,  — those  in  the  heights  above,  or 
in  the  depths  beneath?  Long  did  the 
Child  waver,  and  his  thoughts  floated  in 


32 


I 


THE  STORY  WITHOUT  AN  END 

a delicious  dreaminess  from  one  to  the 
other,  till  the  dragon-fly  flew  to  him  in 
affectionate  haste,  and  with  rustling  wings 
greeted  her  kind  host.  The  Child  re- 
turned her  greeting,  and  was  glad  to  meet 
an  acquaintance  with  whom  he  could 
share  the  rich  feast  of  his  joy.  But  first 
he  asked  the  dragon-fly  if  she  could  de- 
cide for  him  between  the  Upper  and  the 
Nether — the  height  and  the  depth  ? The 
dragon-fly  flew  above,  and  beneath,  and 
around;  but  the  water  spake:  — “The 
foliage  and  the  sky  above  are  not  the  true 
ones : the  leaves  wither  and  fall ; the  sky 
is  often  overcast,  and  sometimes  quite 
dark.”  Then  the  leaves  and  the  sky  said, 
“ The  water  only  apes  us ; it  must  change 
its  pictures  at  our  pleasure,  and  can  retain 
none.”  Then  the  dragon-fly  remarked 
that  the  height  and  the  depth  existed 
only  in  the  eyes  of  the  Child,  and  that 
the  leaves  and  the  sky  were  true  and  real 
only  in  his  thoughts ; because  in  the  mind 
alone  the  picture  was  permanent  and  en- 


33 


THE  STORY  WITHOUT  AN  END 


during,  and  could  be  carried  with  him 
whithersoever  he  went. 

This  she  said  to  the  Child;  but  she 
immediately  warned  him  to  return,  for 
the  leaves  were  already  beating  the  tattoo 
in  the  evening  breeze,  and  the  lights  were 
disappearing  one  by  one  in  every  corner. 
Then  the  Child  confessed  to  her  with 
alarm  that  he  knew  not  how  he  should 
find  the  way  back,  and  that  he  feared 
the  dark  night  would  overtake  him  if  he 
attempted  to  go  home  alone ; so  the  drag- 
on-fly flew  on  before  him  and  showed  him 
a cave  in  the  rock  where  he  might  pass 
the  night.  And  the  Child  was  wTell  con- 
tent ; for  he  had  often  wished  to  try  if  he 
could  sleep  out  of  his  accustomed  bed. 


VIII 


BUT  the  dragon-fly  was  fleet,  and  grat- 
itude strengthened  her  wings  to  pay 
her  host  the  honour  she  owed  him.  And 
truly,  in  the  dim  twilight  good  counsel 
and  guidance  were  scarce.  She  flitted 
hither  and  thither  without  knowing  rightly 
what  was  to  be  done ; when,  by  the  last 
vanishing  sunbeam,  she  saw  hanging  on 
the  edge  of  the  cave  some  strawberries 
who  had  drunk  so  deep  of  the  evening 
red  that  their  heads  were  quite  heavy. 
Then  she  flew  up  to  a harebell  who  stood 
near,  and  whispered  in  her  ear  that  the 
lord  and  king  of  all  the  flowers  was  in  the 
wood,  and  ought  to  be  received  and  wel- 
comed as  beseemed  his  dignity.  Aglaia 
did  not  need  that  this  should  be  repeated. 
She  began  to  ring  her  sweet  bells  with  all 
her  might ; and  when  her  neighbour  heard 
the  sound,  she  rang  hers  also;  and  soon 


35 


THE  STORY  WITHOUT  AN  END 


all  the  harebells,  great  and  small,  were  in 
motion,  and  rang  as  if  it  had  been  for  the 
nuptials  of  their  mother  earth  herself 
with  the  prince  of  the  sun.  The  tone  of 
the  blue  bells  was  deep  and  rich  and  that 
of  the  white,  high  and  clear,  and  all 
blended  together  in  a delicious  harmony. 

But  the  birds  were  fast  asleep  in  their 
high  nests,  and  the  ears  of  the  other 
animals  were  not  delicate  enough,  or 
were  too  much  overgrown  with  hair,  to 
hear  them.  The  fire-flies  alone  heard  the 
joyous  peal,  for  they  were  akin  to  the 
flowers,  through  their  common  ancestor, 
light.  They  inquired  of  their  nearest 
relation,  the  lily  of  the  valley,  and  from 
her  they  heard  that  a large  flower  had 
just  passed  along  the  foot-path  more 
blooming  than  the  loveliest  rose,  and 
with  two  stars  more  brilliant  than  those 
of  the  brightest  fire-fly,  and  that  it  must 
needs  be  their  king.  Then  all  the  fire- 
flies flew  up  and  down  the  foot-path,  and 
sought  everywhere  till  at  length  they 


THE  STORY  WITHOUT  AN  END 


came,  as  the  dragon-fly  had  hoped  they 
would,  to  the  cave. 

And  now,  as  they  looked  at  the  Child, 
and  every  one  of  them  saw  itself  reflected 
in  his  clear  eyes,  they  rejoiced  exceedingly, 
and  called  all  their  fellows  together,  and 
alighted  on  the  bushes  all  around;  and 
soon  it  was  so  light  in  the  cave  that  herb 
and  grass  began  to  grow  as  if  it  had  been 
broad  day.  Now,  indeed,  was  the  joy 
and  triumph  of  the  dragon-fly  complete. 
The  Child  was  delighted  with  the  merry 
and  silvery  tones  of  the  bells,  and  with 
the  many  little  bright-eyed  companions 
around  him,  and  with  the  deep  red  straw- 
berries which  bowed  down  their  heads  to 
his  touch. 


IX 


ND  when  he  had  eaten  his  fill,  he  sat 


down  on  the  soft  moss,  crossed  one 
little  leg  over  the  other  and  began  to 
gossip  with  the  fire-flies.  And  as  he  so 
often  thought  on  his  unknown  parents, 
he  asked  them  who  were  their  parents. 
Then  the  one  nearest  to  him  gave  him 
answer;  and  he  told  how  that  they  were 
formerly  flowers,  but  none  of  those  who 
thrust  their  rooty  hands  greedily  into  the 
ground  and  draw  nourishment  from  the 
dingy  earth,  only  to  make  themselves  fat 
and  large  withal ; but  that  the  light  was 
dearer  to  them  than  anything,  even  at 
night ; and  while  the  other  flowers  slept, 
they  gazed  unwearied  on  the  light,  and 
drank  it  in  with  eager  adoration, — sun, 
and  moon,  and  star  light.  And  the  light 
had  so  thoroughly  purified  them,  that 
they  had  not  sucked  in  poisonous  juices 


38 


THE  STORY  WITHOUT  AN  END 


like  the  yellow  flowers  of  the  earth,  but 
sweet  odours  for  sick  and  fainting  hearts, 
and  oil  of  potent  ethereal  virtue  for  the 
weak  and  the  wounded;  and  at  length, 
when  their  autumn  came,  they  did  not, 
like  the  others,  wither  and  sink  down, 
leaf  and  flower,  to  be  swallowed  up  by 
the  darksome  earth,  but  shook  off  their 
earthly  garment,  and  mounted  aloft  into 
the  clear  air.  But  there  it  was  so  won- 
drously  bright,  that  sight  failed  them; 
and  when  they  came  to  themselves  again, 
they  were  fire-flies,  each  sitting  on  a with- 
ered flower-stalk. 

And  now  the  Child  liked  the  bright- 
eyed flies  better  than  ever;  and  he  talked 
a little  longer  with  them,  and  inquired 
why  they  showed  themselves  so  much 
more  in  spring.  They  did  it,  they  said, 
in  the  hope  that  their  gold-green  radiance 
might  allure  their  cousins,  the  flowers,  to 
the  pure  love  of  light. 


X 


DURING  this  conversation,  the  drag- 
on-fly had  been  preparing  a bed 
for  her  host.  The  moss  upon  which  the 
Child  sat  had  grown  a foot  high  behind 
his  back,  out  of  pure  joy;  but  the  dragon- 
fly and  her  sisters  had  so  revelled  upon 
it,  that  it  was  now  laid  at  its  length  along 
the  cave.  The  dragon-fly  had  awakened 
every  spider  in  the  neighbourhood  out  of 
her  sleep,  and  when  they  saw  the  brilliant 
light  they  had  set  to  ’work  spinning  so 
industriously  that  their  web  hung  down 
like  a curtain  before  the  mouth  of  the 
cave.  But  as  the  Child  saw  the  ant 
peeping  up  at  him,  he  entreated  the  fire- 
flies not  to  deprive  themselves  any  longer 
of  their  merry  games  in  the  wood  on  his 
account.  And  the  dragon-fly  and  her 
sisters  raised  the  curtain  till  the  Child 
had  lain  him  down  to  rest,  and  then  let 


40 


THE  STORY  WITHOUT  AN  END 


it  fall  again,  that  the  mischievous  gnats 
might  not  get  in  to  disturb  his  slumbers. 

The  Child  laid  himself  down  to  sleep, 
for  he  was  very  tired;  but  he  could  not 
sleep,  for  his  couch  of  moss  was  quite 
another  thing  than  his  little  bed,  and  the 
cave  was  all  strange  to  him.  He  turned 
himself  on  one  side  and  then  on  the  other, 
and  as  nothing  would  do,  he  raised  him- 
self and  sat  upright,  to  wait  till  sleep 
might  choose  to  come.  But  sleep  would 
not  come  at  all;  — and  the  only  wakeful 
eyes  in  the  whole  wood  were  the  Child’s. 
For  the  harebells  had  rung  themselves 
weary,  and  the  fire-flies  had  flown  about 
till  they  were  tired,  and  even  the  dragon- 
fly, who  would  fain  have  kept  watch  in 
front  of  the  cave,  had  dropped  sound 
asleep. 

The  wood  grew  stiller  and  stiller;  here 
and  there  fell  a dry  leaf  which  had  been 
driven  from  its  old  dwelling-place  by  a 
fresh  one;  here  and  there  a young  bird 
gave  a soft  chirp  when  its  mother  squeezed 


4i 


THE  STORY  WITHOUT  AN  END 


it  in  the  nest;  — and  from  time  to  time  a 
gnat  hummed  for  a minute  or  two  in  the 
curtain,  till  a spider  crept  on  tiptoe  along 
its  web,  and  gave  him  such  a gripe  in  the 
wind-pipe  as  soon  spoiled  his  trumpeting. 

And  the  deeper  the  silence  became,  the 
more  intently  did  the  Child  listen,  and  at 
last  the  slightest  sound  thrilled  him  from 
head  to  foot.  At  length,  all  was  still  as 
death  in  the  wood;  and  the  world  seemed 
as  if  it  never  would  wake  again.  The 
Child  bent  forward  to  see  whether  it  were 
as  dark  abroad  as  in  the  cave,  but  he  saw 
nothing  save  the  pitch-dark  night,  who 
had  wrapped  everything  in  her  thick  veil. 
Yet  as  he  looked  upwards  his  eyes  met 
the  friendly  glance  of  two  or  three  stars, 
and  this  was  a most  joyful  surprise  to  him, 
for  he  felt  himself  no  longer  so  entirely 
alone.  The  stars  were  indeed  far,  far 
away,  but  yet  he  knew  them,  and  they 
knew  him ; for  they  looked  into  his  eyes. 

The  Child’s  whole  soul  was  fixed  in  his 
gaze;  and  it  seemed  to  him  as  if  he  must 


42 


THE  STORY  WITHOUT  AN  END 


needs  fly  out  of  the  darksome  cavo  thither, 
where  the  stars  were  beaming  with  such 
pure  and  serene  light;  and  he  felt  how 
poor  and  lowly  he  was,  when  he  thought 
of  their  brilliancy ; and  how  cramped  and 
fettered,  when  he  thought  of  their  free 
unbounded  course  along  the  heavens. 


XI 


BUT  the  stars  went  on  their  course, 
and  left  their  glittering  picture  only 
a little,  while  before  the  Child’s  eyes. 
Even  this  faded,  and  then  vanished  quite 
away.  And  he  wTas  beginning  to  feel 
tired,  and  to  wish  to  lay  himself  down 
again,  when  a flickering  Will-o’-the-wisp 
appeared  from  behind  a bush,  — so  that 
the  Child  thought,  at  first,  one  of  the 
stars  had  wandered  out  of  its  wTay  and  had 
come  to  visit  him,  and  to  take  him  with  it. 
And  the  Child  breathed  quick  with  joy 
and  surprise,  and  then  the  Will-o’-the-wisp 
came  nearer,  and  set  himself  down  on  a 
damp  mossy  stone  in  front  of  the  cave, 
and  another  fluttered  quickly  after  him, 
and  sat  down  over-against  him,  and  sighed, 
deeply,  “ Thank  God,  then,  that  I can  rest 
at  last ! ” 

“Yes,”  said  the  other,  “for  that  you 


44 


THE  STORY  WITHOUT  AN  END 

may  thank  the  innocent  Child  who  sleeps 
there  within ; it  was  his  pure  breath  that 
freed  us.”  — “Are  you  then,”  said  the 
Child,  hesitatingly,  “not  of  yon  stars 
■which  -wander  so  brightly  there  above  ? ” 
— “ Oh,  if  we  were  stars,”  replied  the  first, 
“we  should  pursue  our  tranquil  path 
through  the  pure  element,  and  should 
leave  this  wood  and  the  whole  darksome 
earth  to  itself.”  — “And  not,”  said  the 
other,  “sit  brooding  on  the  face  of  the 
shallow  pool.” 

The  Child  was  curious  to  know  who 
these  could  be  who  shone  so  beautifully, 
and  yet  seemed  so  discontented.  Then 
the  first  began  to  relate  how  he  had  been 
a child  too,  and  how,  as  he  grew  up,  it 
had  always  been  his  greatest  delight  to 
deceive  people  and  play  them  tricks,  to 
show  his  wit  and  cleverness.  He  had 
always,  he  said,  poured  such  a stream  of 
smooth  w’ords  over  people,  and  encom- 
passed himself  with  such  a shining  mist, 
that  men  had  been  attracted  by  it  to  their 


45 


THE  STORY  WITHOUT  AN  END 


own  hurt.  But  once  on  a time  there  ap- 
peared a plain  man,  who  only  spoke  two 
or  three  simple  words,  and  suddenly  the 
bright  mist  vanished,  and  left  him  naked 
and  deformed,  to  the  scorn  and  mockery 
of  the  whole  w'orld.  But  the  man  had 
turned  awTay  his  face  from  him  in  pity, 
while  he  was  almost  dead  with  shame  and 
anger.  And  when  he  came  to  himself 
again,  he  knew’  not  what  had  befallen  him, 
till  at  length  he  found  that  it  was  his  fate 
to  hover,  without  rest  or  change,  over  the 
surface  of  the  bog  as  a Will-o’-the-wisp. 

“With  me  it  fell  out  quite  otherwise,” 
said  the  first : “ instead  of  giving  light 
without  warmth,  as  I now  do,  I burned 
without  shining.  When  I was  only  a child, 
people  gave  way  to  me  in  everything,  so 
that  I was  intoxicated  with  self-love.  If 
I saw  any  one  shine,  I longed  to  put  out 
his  light ; and  the  more  intensely  I wished 
this,  the  more  did  my  own  small  glimmer- 
ing turn  back  upon  myself,  and  inwardly 
burn  fiercely  while  all  without  was  darker 


46 


THE  STORY  WITHOUT  AN  END 


than  ever.  But  if  any  one  who  shone 
more  brightly  would  have  kindly  given 
me  of  his  light,  then  did  my  inward  flame 
burst  forth  to  destroy  him.  But  the  flame 
passed  through  the  light  and  harmed  it 
not ; it  shone  only  the  more  brightly,  while 
I was  withered  and  exhausted.  And  once 
upon  a time  I met  a little  smiling  child, 
who  played  with  a cross  of  palm  branches, 
and  wTore  a beamy  coronet  around  his 
golden  locks.  He  took  me  kindly  by  the 
hand  and  said,  ‘ My  friend,  you  are  now 
very  gloomy  and  sad,  but  if  you  will  be- 
come a child  again,  even  as  I am,  you  will 
have  a bright  circlet  such  as  I have.’ 
When  I heard  that,  I was  so  angry  with 
myself  and  with  the  child,  that  I was 
scorched  by  my  inward  fire.  Now  would 
I fain  fly  up  to  the  sun  to  fetch  rays  from 
him,  but  the  rays  drove  me  back  with 
these  words : ‘ Return  thither  whence  thou 
earnest,  thou  dark  fire  of  envy,  for  the  sun 
lightens  only  in  love;  the  greedy  earth, 
indeed,  sometimes  turns  his  mild  light  into 


47 


THE  STORY  WITHOUT  AN  END 


scorching  fire.  Fly  back,  then,  for  with 
thy  like  alone  must  thou  dwell.’  I fell, 
and  when  I recovered  myself,  I was  glim- 
mering coldly  above  the  stagnant  waters.” 
While  they  were  talking,  the  Child  had 
fallen  asleep ; for  he  knew7  nothing  of  the 
world,  nor  of  men,  and  he  could  make 
nothing  of  their  stories.  Weariness  had 
spoken  a more  intelligible  language  to 
him  — that  he  understood,  and  had  fallen 
asleep. 


XII 


SOFTLY  and  soundly  he  slept  till  the 
rosy  morning  clouds  stood  upon  the 
mountain,  and  announced  the  coming  of 
their  lord  the  sun.  But  as  soon  as  the 
tidings  spread  over  field  and  wood,  the 
thousand-voiced  echo  awoke,  and  sleep 
was  no  more  to  be  thought  of.  And  soon 
did  the  royal  sun  himself  arise;  at  first, 
his  dazzling  diadem  alone  appeared  above 
the  mountains ; at  length  he  stood  upon 
their  summit  in  the  full  majesty  of  his 
beauty,  in  all  the  charms  of  eternal  youth, 
bright  and  glorious,  his  kindly  glance  em- 
bracing every  creature  of  earth,  from  the 
stately  oak  to  the  blade  of  grass  bending 
under  the  foot  of  the  wayfaring  man. 

Then  arose  from  every  breast,  from 
every  throat,  the  joyous  song  of  praise; 
and  it  was  as  if  the  whole  plain  and  wood 
were  become  a temple,  whose  roof  was 


49 


THE  STORY  WITHOUT  AN  END 


the  heaven,  whose  altar  the  mountain, 
whose  congregation  all  creatures,  whose 
priest  the  sun. 

But  the  Child  walked  forth  and  was 
glad,  for  the  birds  sang  sweetly,  and  it 
seemed  to  him  as  if  everything  sported 
and  danced  out  of  mere  joy  to  be  alive. 
Here  flew  two  finches  through  the  thicket, 
and,  twittering,  pursued  each  other;  there, 
the  young  buds  burst  asunder,  and  the 
tender  leaves  peeped  out  and  expanded 
themselves  in  the  warm  sun,  as  if  they 
would  abide  in  his  glance  for  ever;  here, 
a dew-drop  trembled,  sparkling  and  twink- 
ling on  a blade  of  grass,  and  knew  not 
that  beneath  him  stood  a little  moss  who 
was  thirsting  after  him;  there,  troops  of 
flies  flew  aloft,  as  if  they  would  soar  far 
over  the  wood;  and  so  all  was  life  and 
motion,  and  the  Child’s  heart  joyed  to 
see  it. 

He  sat  down  on  a little  smooth  plot  of 
turf,  shaded  by  the  branches  of  a nut-bush, 
and  thought  he  should  now  sip  the  cup 


5° 


THE  STORY  WITHOUT  AN  END 

of  his  delight  drop  by  drop.  And  first 
he  plucked  down  some  brambles  which 
threatened  him  with  their  prickles ; then 
he  bent  aside  some  branches  which  con- 
cealed the  view;  then  he  removed  the 
stones,  so  that  he  might  stretch  out  his 
feet  at  full  length  on  the  soft  turf ; and 
when  he  had  done  all  this,  he  bethought 
himself  what  was  yet  to  do ; and  as  he 
found  nothing,  he  stood  up  to  look  for 
his  acquaintance  the  dragon-fly,  and  to 
beg  her  to  guide  him  once  more  out  of 
the  wood  into  the  open  fields.  About 
midway  he  met  her,  and  she  began  to 
excuse  herself  for  having  fallen  asleep  in 
the  night.  The  Child  thought  not  of  the 
past,  were  it  even  but  a minute  ago,  so 
earnestly  did  he  now  wish  to  get  out  from 
among  the  thick  and  close  trees ; for  his 
heart  beat  high,  and  he  felt  as  if  he  should 
breathe  freer  in  the  open  ground.  The 
dragon-fly  flew  on  before,  and  showed  him 
the  way  as  far  as  the  outermost  verge  of 
the  wood,  whence  the  Child  could  espy 

51 


UNIVERSITY  OF 

ILLINOIS  LIBRARY 
AT  URBANA-CHAMPAIGN 


THE  STORY  WITHOUT  AN  END 


his  own  little  hut,  and  then  flew  away  to 
her  playfellows. 


XIII 


IIE  Child  walked  forth  alone  upon 


the  fresh  dewy  corn-field.  A thou- 
sand little  suns  glittered  in  his  eyes,  and  a 
lark  soared  warbling  above  his  head. 
And  the  lark  proclaimed  the  joys  of  the 
coming  year,  and  awakened  endless  hopes, 
while  she  soared  circling  higher  and  higher, 
till  at  length  her  song  was  like  the  soft 
whisper  of  an  angel  holding  converse  with 
the  spring  under  the  blue  arch  of  heaven. 
The  Child  had  seen  the  earth-coloured 
little  bird  rise  up  before  him,  and  it  seemed 
to  him  as  if  the  earth  had  sent  her  forth 
from  her  bosom  as  a messenger  to  carry 
her  joy  and  her  thanks  up  to  the  sun,  be- 
cause he  had  turned  his  beaming  counte- 
nance again  upon  her  in  love  and  bounty. 
And  the  lark  hung  poised  above  the  hope- 
giving field,  and  warbled  her  clear  and 
joyous  song. 


53 


THE  STORY  WITHOUT  AN  END 


She  sang  of  the  loveliness  of  the  rosy 
dawn,  and  the  fresh  brilliancy  of  the  earli- 
est sunbeams ; of  the  gladsome  springing 
of  the  young  flowers,  and  the  vigorous 
shooting  of  the  corn ; and  her  song  pleased 
the  Child  beyond  measure. 

But  the  lark  wheeled  in  higher  and 
higher  circles,  and  her  song  sounded 
softer  and  sweeter. 

And  now  she  sang  of  the  first  delights 
of  early  love,  of  wanderings  together  on 
the  sunny  fresh  hill-tops,  and  of  the  sweet 
pictures  and  visions  that  arise  out  of  the 
blue  and  misty  distance.  The  Child  un- 
derstood not  rightly  what  he  heard,  and 
fain  would  he  have  understood,  for  he 
thought  that  even  in  such  visions  must 
be  wondrous  delight.  lie  gazed  aloft 
after  the  unwearied  bird,  but  she  had  dis- 
appeared in  the  morning  mist. 

Then  the  Child  leaned  his  head  on  one 
shoulder  to  listen  if  he  could  no  longer 
hear  the  little  messenger  of  spring ; and 
he  could  just  catch  the  distant  and  quiver- 


54 


THE  STORY  WITHOUT  AN  END 

ing  notes  in  which  she  sang  of  the  fervent 
longing  after  the  clear  element  of  free- 
dom; after  the  pure  all-present  light;  and 
of  the  blessed  foretaste  of  this  desired 
enfranchisement,  of  this  blending  in  the 
sea  of  celestial  happiness. 

Yet  longer  did  he  listen;  for  the  tones 
of  her  song  carried  him  there,  where,  as 
yet,  his  thoughts  had  never  reached,  and 
he  felt  himself  happier  in  this  short  and 
imperfect  flight  than  ever  he  had  felt  be- 
fore. But  the  lark  now  dropped  suddenly 
to  the  earth,  for  her  little  body  was  too 
heavy  for  the  ambient  ether,  and  her  wings 
were  not  large  nor  strong  enough  for  the 
pure  element. 

Then  the  red  corn-poppies  laughed  at 
the  homely-looking  bird,  and  cried  to  one 
another  and  to  the  surrounding  blades  of 
corn  in  a shrill  voice,  “Now,  indeed,  you 
may  see  what  comes  of  flying  so  high,  and 
striving  and  straining  after  mere  air; 
people  only  lose  their  time,  and  bring 
back  nothing  but  weary  wings  and  an 


55 


THE  STORY  WITHOUT  AN  END 


empty  stomach.  That  vulgar-looking  ill- 
dressed  little  creature  would  fain  raise 
herself  above  us  all,  and  has  kept  up  a 
mighty  noise.  And  now,  there  she  lies  on 
the  ground,  and  can  hardly  breathe,  while 
we  have  stood  still  where  we  are  sure  of  a 
good  meal,  and  have  stayed  like  people 
of  sense  where  there  is  something  sub- 
stantial to  be  had;  and  in  the  time  she 
has  been  fluttering  and  singing,  we  have 
grown  a good  deal  taller  and  fatter.” 

The  other  little  red-caps  chattered  and 
screamed  their  assent  so  loud,  that  the 
Child’s  ears  tingled,  and  he  wished  he 
could  chastise  them  for  their  spiteful 
jeers;  when  a cyane  said,  in  a soft  voice, 
to  her  younger  playmates,  “ Dear  friends, 
be  not  led  astray  by  outward  show,  nor 
by  discourse  which  regards  only  outward 
show.  The  lark  is  indeed  weary,  and  the 
space  into  which  she  has  soared  is  void ; 
but  the  void  is  not  what  the  lark  sought, 
nor  is  the  seeker  returned  empty  home. 
She  strove  after  light  and  freedom,  and 


56 


THE  STORY  WITHOUT  AN  END 


light  and  freedom  has  she  proclaimed. 
She  left  the  earth  and  its  enjoyments,  but 
she  has  drunk  of  the  pure  air  of  heaven, 
and  has  seen  that  it  is  not  the  earth,  but 
the  sun  that  is  steadfast.  And  if  earth 
has  called  her  back,  it  can  keep  nothing 
of  her  but  what  is  its  own.  Her  sweet 
voice  and  her  soaring  wings  belong  to  the 
sun,  and  will  enter  into  light  and  freedom 
long  after  the  foolish  prater  shall  have 
sunk  and  been  buried  in  the  dark  prison 
of  the  earth.” 

And  the  lark  heard  her  wise  and  friendly 
discourse,  and,  with  renewed  strength,  she 
sprang  once  more  into  the  clear  and  beau- 
tiful blue. 

Then  the  Child  clapped  his  little  hands 
for  joy  that  the  sweet  bird  had  flown  up 
again,  and  that  the  red-caps  must  hold 
their  tongues  for  shame. 


XIV 


ND  the  Child  was  become  happy  and 


joyful,  and  breathed  freely  again, 
and  thought  no  more  of  returning  to  his 
hut ; for  he  saw  that  nothing  returned  in- 
wards, but  rather  that  all  strove  outwards 
into  the  free  air;  the  rosy  apple-blossoms 
from  their  narrow  buds,  and  the  gurgling 
notes  from  the  narrow  breast  of  the  lark. 
The  germs  burst  open  the  folding  doors 
of  the  seeds,  and  broke  through  the  heavy 
pressure  of  the  earth  in  order  to  get  at 
the  light ; the  grasses  tore  asunder  their 
bands,  and  their  slender  blades  sprang 
upward.  Even  the  rocks  were  become 
gentle,  and  allowed  little  mosses  to  peep 
out  from  their  sides,  as  a sign  that  they 
would  not  remain  impenetrably  closed  for 
ever.  And  the  flowers  sent  out  colour 
and  fragrance  into  the  whole  world,  for 
they  kept  not  their  best  for  themselves, 


58 


THE  STORY  WITHOUT  AN  END 


but  would  imitate  the  sun  and  the  stars, 
which  poured  their  warmth  and  radiance 
over  the  spring.  And  many  a little  gnat 
and  beetle  burst  the  narrow  cell  in  which 
it  was  inclosed,  and  crept  out  slowly,  and, 
half  asleep,  unfolded  and  shook  its  tender 
wings,  and  soon  gained  strength,  and  flew 
off  to  untried  delights.  And  as  the  but- 
terflies came  forth  from  their  chrysalids 
in  all  their  gaiety  and  splendour,  so  did 
every  humbled  and  suppressed  aspiration 
and  hope  free  itself,  and  boldly  launch 
into  the  open  and  flowing  sea  of  spring. 


FOUR  HUNDRED  AND  TWEN- 


TY-FIVE COPIES  OF  THIS  BOOK 
(second  edition)  HAVE  BEEN 
PRINTED  ON  JAPAN  VELLUM, 
AND  TYPE  DISTRIBUTED,  IN 
THE  MONTH  OF  DECEMBER, 
A.  D.  MDCCCXCVII,  AT  THE 
PRESS  OF  GEORGE  D.  LORING, 
PORTLAND,  MAINE. 


' 


